Looking Back

The clouds are crashing, there is thunder and lightening
And these are the times when I feel there is nowhere for me
To hide, under the blankets or under my skin;
My mind is like a Siren, wailing with so many questions
Run away, run away, run away before the riders come riding
Before it starts, there’d be a past you never could forget
And all those reasons for which I waited for you
Would start to seem wasted…
There is a canvas waiting on the bed, begged for us to make it
The mirrors against the green, acting coy for you to be touched
Fill it with the colors of love, in every way we can
I am but the cloud drifting in the distance, I can’t be held
Bury myself in those valleys, locked in your embrace
But I better run away, run away, run away, and never look back
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RAW
There is a question that comes to mind when you search for a mate and then realize what its like to be found wanting. The measure of the ages past lacks a measure in integrety and tears the other from within. How can the valour of integrity in itself can be treated like loose change in the pocket? How can hope, curiosity and frolic be an excuse to shield yourself from the falling curtains of truth and reality? Perhaps a loss of regret in itself makes for human deluding themselves in mishapen world of conformity. People, these days, can only measure so far till they wake up one to realize that the moment they've waited for come to them arrived, but what they made of themselves made that moment come a little too late. All set against the times when you love till that love makes a living lie of your fate...
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Godspeed,
Rogue
Poet of the Shadows
Back from the dead!

Plastic

You, seem to get ahead as the days go by

Farther and farther in the distance

Whereas I, I am left here where I stood

In the days of our youth, I reminiscence

Even then, you were busy with the scores

And I was trying to even out our woes

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Why can’t I let it go?

Shed my skin to be born anew

Blind in deceit that only sees

Your eyes, your smile, your touch

So plastic, suffocating me…

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You, dine amongst the finest, philosophical

To the tomorrow of green and all economics

I, stick to a bottle of malt and grass, demented

At days end, I picture you undressing

Brushing another man’s scent off your skin

Tainted and stained in my thoughts and ink

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What might be to question?

Sins only add to all that is original

Obsession is another name to feeling

Your hands, your voice, your words

All plastic, choking my existence

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Raw

Bank your gold, little hamster and hope they don't seize it. Forget a healthy diet, and see if can they leech the excess. To six pack abs, stairmaster, treadmills, botox and everything plastic... how do you like me now, mate?